


What Happened In France?

by nackledamia



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Dissociative Identity Disorder, M/M, jeffmads - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-02-16 01:22:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nackledamia/pseuds/nackledamia
Summary: He watched Thomas pull his wild hair back into a ponytail. He rolled his brightly coloured sleeves up his arms and out of sight. He picked up his pen and began to hum what James thought was the national anthem of France. It wasn't Thomas Jefferson sitting at the table anymore."Lafayette?""Oui?""Good to see you, buddy."This work has been rewritten.This is not historically accurate.This is not medically accurate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minervajeanlupin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minervajeanlupin/gifts).



> Thank you, [minervajeanlupin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/minervajeanlupin), for sparking my interest in this story again.
> 
> Thank you to my friends [Pluttskutt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pluttskutt) and Juju who read through the first chapter I was so terrified to post.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who waited months for chapter 9 only to have me restart all the way from chapter 1 but are still interested to support the story.
> 
> I hope I won't let you down with this new (and hopefully improved) version.
> 
> The time period of this story is set in the 1880s.

Thomas had left for France immediately after college on a five-year journalism programme, fully funded by his future employer, George Washington.

Thomas was finally back from France.

He looked different. He _was_ different.

There was a flair in the way he held himself that had not been there before he left for France. There was a different intonation in his manner of speaking, influenced by the French.

Thomas seemed more confident, more sure of himself. He stepped off the ship with his arms spread wide, taking a deep breath, glad to be home in Virginia.

James stood at the other end of the pier and smiled. ‘Fake it till you make it’ seemed to have worked on Thomas. He had grown into someone confident in his abilities and ready to take on the world. James felt pride for Thomas swell in his chest.

Thomas finally spotted James, his grin growing even wider as he raised a greeting arm. “James!” Thomas hollered down the pier, sauntering towards him. James returned Thomas’ enthusiasm with a simple nod.

James drove Thomas back to his house where Thomas would be residing until he found his own place to live.

“Thanks for putting up with me again, James,” Thomas grinned as they dragged his oversized luggage through the front door and into James’ living room.

“I’ve already dealt with your nonsense for five years in college, Thomas.” James pointed out, dropping the luggage he was holding on the floor. “What’s another few more months?”

“You’re the best, Jemmy,” Thomas sighed, placing the luggage down too and taking a step forward, surveying the house.

Thomas stood before James, in his full purple velveted glory. James had missed Thomas’ crazy antics. James had missed Thomas’ nonsensical and endless rambling. Most of all, James had missed Thomas’ affectionate and teasing nickname for him.

It made his heart warm.

“...Earth to Jemmy,” James blinked to see Thomas waving a hand in front of him, a wide smile across his face. “Were you thinking of work? Am I intruding by being here?”

“No no,” James quickly assured, picking up the luggage he had placed on the floor and taking the other luggage Thomas was holding. He began to stumble backwards, dragging the luggage towards the stairs. “I’m sadly still unemployed. You can pick any room you fancy; all of them are empty.”

Thomas, always the gentleman, lifted the other end of the luggage and carried them up the stairs with James. At the top, Thomas began down the corridor to pick his room.

The first room nearest to the stairs was James’ room. Thomas glanced into the second room and stopped. “Jemmy,” Thomas grinned, gesturing at the purple-walled room, “you did this for me, didn’t you?”

“You must be tired,” James said instead, changed the subject, shoving the luggage towards Thomas, letting them spin on their wheels across the corridor to Thomas.

James was certainly tired, after an entire day excessively cleaning his entire house in preparation for Thomas’ arrival and painting the walls of the room next to his a bright purple.

“We can unpack tomorrow; I’m sure you’re eager to rest,” James told Thomas and retreated into his room before Thomas could respond, flopping on his bed with a groan of despair.

James wasn’t sure how to act around Thomas. He loved the thought that they could have just slipped back into their old college routine but five years had passed. Five years was a long time.

Thomas was certainly not excessively loud and overly exaggerated to hide his insecurities anymore. He didn’t seem to _have_ insecurities anymore.

Thomas had changed. What else had changed?

“James?” Thomas’ muffled voice came from the other side of James’ wooden door.

“Yeah?” James called back, sitting up.

“I just wanted to say thank you!” Thomas said, “I learnt to cook in France and I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow to make up for troubling you!”

“It was no trouble at all!” James yelled back and only heard silence in response. Thomas must have gone back to his room.

James lay back on the bed. He could tell Thomas that tomorrow. Right now, his lowering eyelids were a sign of fatigue.

\-------

James was rudely awakened from his slumber way too early in the morning. The sky was still dark, the night crickets still chirping audibly. Yet, the kettle whistling loudly downstairs indicated that Thomas was already awake and making breakfast.

Thomas was never one to awaken early. James hadn’t even expected him to actually go through with his promise of making breakfast. All through college, it had been James making them breakfast and shaking Thomas awake afterwards. Thomas would then grumble and take _forever_ to get ready.

It couldn’t be Thomas actually making breakfast at four in the morning.

“Thomas?” James grunted, heading down the stairs and into the kitchen. “It’s too early for breakfast. What are you-”

James did a double-take as he looked up and rubbed his eyes again to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming.

Thomas ‘don’t touch my hair’ Jefferson had pulled his hair back into a puffy ponytail. He was wearing an uncharacteristic black overcoat and a smile that curled the wrong side of his lips.

“Oui oui mon ami!” Thomas greeted, holding a spatula in one hand and taking great strides across the kitchen to embrace James tightly and kiss him on both cheeks.

“Thomas, I don’t-” James began, but Thomas interrupted him and began rattling off in French.

Thomas gestured at the food, then the window and threw his hands up in the air. He turned to James expectantly, waiting for a response.

“Um,” James hesitated, “You know I don’t speak French.”

Thomas exclaimed something in French, his loud voice rising even higher as he gestured at the dining table then took James’ hand, kissed between his knuckles and looked up at him again.

“Thomas, what a gentleman,” James laughed, pulling his hand back, “what’s this all about?”

“Thomas?” Thomas finally switched back to English, a thick French accent in his words. “Non, non, I am not Thomas.”

“Oh really?” James raised an eyebrow, “who are you, then?”

“Je m’appelle- ‘ow you say- my name is Marquis de Lafayette,” Thomas continued to speak in that strong accent, making a sweeping bow before James. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, James Madison.”

“Marquis?” James laughed. Thomas wanted to act like French royalty? James could certainly play along. “If you’re a Marquis, why are you making breakfast? Allow me to cook for you.”

“Non, I like to cook my own meals and sometimes I like to cook for others as well,” Thomas said, turning to face the sizzling bacon in the pan and casting a wink at James over his shoulder.

James laughed again.

“Alright, whatever you say, Thomas,” James conceded, taking a seat at the dining table and resting his head on the table.

“I am not Thomas, have I not said so?” Thomas insisted.

“It’s too early for your games, Thomas,” James raised a dismissive hand, “Wake me up when breakfast is done. I’m going back to sleep right here.”

Thomas chuckled and James drifted back to sleep to Thomas humming a song he didn’t recognise.

James jerked awake to the smell of burning bacon.

Thomas was standing at the kitchen window, staring out, still humming.

“THOMAS!” James yelled, scrambling out of his chair and turning the fire off, tossing the pan into the sink.

“James?” Thomas had dropped the accent, turning around with a confused frown. He looked down at the spatula he was holding in one hand and raised his other hand to his ponytail. “What is going on?”

“You burnt the bacon, dumbass!” James shouted at him, grabbing the spatula from Thomas as Thomas yanked the hairband off and his hair puffed back into its normal look.

“I wasn’t cooking bacon,” Thomas said slowly, coming up behind James to stare at the burnt pan in the sink. “I was going to make french toast.”

“I guess bacon and eggs seemed more classy even if you didn’t know how to cook them, doesn’t it, Marquis the- whatever your stupid name is!” James snapped, glaring at Thomas.

Thomas only looked more confused at his words.

James took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry; it’s early and I’m cranky. I’ll make breakfast,” James amended.

“I’m sorry, Jemmy,” Thomas pouted, “I’ll make breakfast tomorrow?”

“Never come into my kitchen without supervision ever again,” James warned.

Thomas gave James a quick embrace from behind and bounced out of the kitchen.

James couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. Thomas was the most genuine person he knew. He didn’t mean to ruin James’ pan. James couldn’t stay mad at Thomas.

\------

Thomas started work at Washington’s Newspaper company the week after his return to America. Thomas dragged a table to the back of the living room and it became his workspace. Thomas was immediately bombarded with drafting articles and reviews, often working late into the night.

“Go to bed,” James told Thomas for the hundredth time, turning around on the sofa to face Thomas at the table behind him.

Thomas’ pen flew across the page, line after line. He was still in his fuschia tailcoat; he hadn’t changed out of his work clothes when he reached home that evening. His eyes were wide and unblinking, in a frenzy of scribbling words.

“I’m not done,” Thomas mumbled, his low voice betraying his tiredness.

James slammed his book shut, making Thomas jump in his seat and look up at him, dark bags under his eyes.

“You’ve only been working for Washington for a couple weeks, Thomas. At this rate, you’re going to drive yourself into an early grave,” James warned, keeping his voice soft. He wasn’t angry, he was worried.

“I- I can’t,” Thomas sighed, his fingers white around the grip of his pen. “I can’t lose to Hamilton. He’s been producing more articles and more reviews than me. At this rate, I’m going to lose my job.”

“Thomas,” James stated, “Washington fully funded five years for you to be in France straight out of college to learn how to be a great journalist. You’re the best in his company. He’s not going to let you go.”

Thomas gave James a thin smile, already distracted from their conversation, already turning back to his work.

“Go to sleep first,” Thomas said, dismissive.

“I’m going to sit right here until you go to bed,” James told him firmly and reopened his book.

There was a pause from Thomas’ hard scribbling.

“Don’t let me keep you up, James,” Thomas told him, something strangled in his voice.

James ignored him, focusing on the words of his book. He _was_ tired, but James wasn’t going to let Thomas destroy himself with no sleep. If he had to threaten Thomas with himself, he would.

The minuscule words on the page began to melt into each other and become puddles of black ink before being absorbed and disappearing into the pages of the book.

James was startled awake when a heavy blanket was draped onto him. He looked up to see Thomas, his hair in a ponytail, smiling down at him.

“Why are you sleeping on the couch, mon ami?” Thomas asked. He was using the heavy French accent again.

“I was waiting for you, Thomas,” James muttered, “how are you still alert enough at this time to fake that accent so accurately?”

“I’m not faking the accent; I am French,” Thomas raised an eyebrow, “and I’m not Thomas.”

“Haha, Marquis whatever. I’m tired, Thomas, let me sleep,” James turned away and closed his eyes.

Thomas took a seat beside James on the couch instead. “Lafayette,” Thomas told him gently, “repeat after me. Lafayette.”

“Lafayette,” James dutifully did so and Thomas- sorry, _Lafayette_ \- nodded, pleased. “Are you not tired?” James continued, opening his eyes again.

“Non,” Lafayette shook his head, “I just woke up.”

“What do you mean you just woke up?” James narrowed his eyes curiously.

Lafayette shrugged and smiled, curling the wrong side of his lips again.

James searched Lafayette’s eyes. They were bright and alert, ready for action. There was no hint of fatigue in his gaze. He really was fully awake.

Just moments ago, Thomas was about to doze off at his desk.

Here Lafayette sat before James with no indication of any tiredness at all.

“How?” James whispered.

Lafayette shrugged again.

James reached out and gripped his arm tightly. “You must have insomnia. Or something. Maybe this is why you’re awake all night and yet stay so alert. I’m bringing you to the doctor tomorrow,” James said.

“Tomorrow Thomas has a meeting-”

“Now you’re talking about yourself in third person. You’re obviously tired but you’re wide awake,” James pointed out.

“Non-”

“Take a break, Thomas,” James told him in his end-of-conversation voice. Thomas- Lafayette- whatever- pressed his lips together to form an annoyed line but nodded anyway.

James allowed Tho- Lafayette to lead him upstairs and into bed, falling asleep in his arms a couple times on the way up. James couldn’t help it; he was exhausted and Thomas/Lafayette’s arms were long and comfy around his chest. James felt safe right here in his arms.

James woke up to loud snoring from Thomas’ room, sunlight blinding him through the window.

James pulled on an overcoat and headed to the next room to wake Thomas.

James opened Thomas’ door and stood at the doorway, watching him sleep.

For all of Thomas’ attempts to be fashionable, he was not very photogenic asleep. Thomas was sprawled out across the king sized bed, his loose hair falling over his face. The hairband he used as ‘Lafayette’ circled his wrist. Thomas had finally changed out of his work clothes before falling into bed- he was only wearing his white, long sleeved undershirt and pants.

There was something tender in his snoring expression, something innocent about his relaxed posture absent when he was awake that made James smile.

“Thomas,” James hissed, “Thomas!”

“James?” Thomas woke up with a start. The French accent was gone and his eye bags were heavy underneath his eyes. Thomas scrambled to sit properly on the bed and looked back up at James. “How did I end up in bed?”

“You carried me to bed and I assume you- sorry, Lafayette- went to bed afterwards,” James rolled his eyes and smirked a little at his own use of the alternate name.

“Lafayette?” Thomas rubbed his eyes, “what’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“What’s a Lafayette?” Thomas asked, “It’s French, right? I’m not very good at French. I know, I spent five years there, but- French is a hard language, okay!”

“It’s you-” James began, then stopped himself. “You know what? It might be a crazy insomnia thing. I’ve only seen you play Lafayette when you’re sleep-deprived. I’m bringing you to the doctor’s right now.”

“I can’t take leave today; I have a meeting today!” Thomas protested.

James wriggled a finger at him, shaking his head.

“You promised me- well, Lafayette promised me, so we’re going to the doctor right now.” James ended the conversation with his no-nonsense voice.

“Fine,” Thomas grumbled. Thomas knew better than to argue with James when James had made up his mind.

Thomas yawned and slid out of bed, throwing the closet open in search for something to wear.

James scanned Thomas’ closet. Outfits for every possible situation neatly categorised by colour. James allowed a smile to break his stern expression at the sight of such familiarity. After all these years, Thomas still loved the colours of the rainbow just as much as he did back in college.

Yet, there was an addition to Thomas’ collection. James strode over to the far side of the closet and pushed away Thomas’ red fluffy furcoats to reveal a couple sets of simple black outfits.

Thomas _hated_ black. He said it didn’t make him stand out in a crowd.

Lafayette had worn black.

“Since when did you start wearing black?” James gestured at the black clothes, turning back to Thomas.

Genuine confusion scrunched across his expression.

“I don’t… I still hate black,” Thomas said, frowning hard as though he was trying to recall something, staring intently at the black in his closet.

James grabbed Thomas’ arm and dragged him out, ignoring his “I’m not dressed yet” protests and driving him straight to the clinic.

\--------

James paced outside the doctor’s office. Thomas had been inside for hours. What kind of tests were they running on him? What kind of illness did he have? Was it insomnia? Dementia? Idiocy?

Finally, Thomas was chased out of the room and James was called in.

“Split personality,” the doctor explained, “or more accurately, Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

“What’s that?” James asked.

“Sometimes, trauma in childhood causes someone to protect themselves by dissociating from certain memories. This gives rise to other personalities created to handle those memories instead.”

“Childhood? It can’t be. I’ve known Thomas all through college. He never had this! It can’t just- just pop up out of nowhere!” James screeched, unaware of the way he raised his voice.

“Mr Madison,” the doctor continued calmly, “we have reason to believe from Mr Jefferson’s medical history that he has had DID for a long time-”

“I’ve never seen this Lafayette in my life,” James sneered.

“-and something happened in France that caused the rise of this more distinguishable additional personality, Mr Lafayette,” the doctor continued as though James hadn’t interrupted him at all.

“What happened in France?” James asked.

“That’s for Mr Jefferson to know and for us to find out,” the doctor nodded. “Mr Madison, DID can be cured or improved. Do not confront Mr Jefferson about it; he may not know the existence of Mr Lafayette and we do not wish to cause him to retreat further.”

James nodded, numb, as he exited the room.

\-------

“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” Thomas grinned as James slid into the driving seat of the car after paying their consultation fees. “These eyebags will go away. I just have to make sure Hamilton knows his place in the office-”

“Thomas,” James turned around sharply, interrupting him. “What the hell happened in France?”

Thomas beamed. “France was a blast! Let me tell you all about it!” Thomas exclaimed, as James turned back to the road and began to drive home.

James didn’t miss the shadow of fear that crossed Thomas’ eyes for a millisecond.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know if something is wildly medically inaccurate.

Thomas chatted on for the duration of the ride. James heard him, but he wasn’t listening; preoccupied by what the doctor had told him.

They had been _roommates_ for five years. He had experienced some of Thomas’ most eccentric habits and daily rituals. He had dealt with enraged, elated, miserable and drunk Thomas. He had been by Thomas’ side every step of the way.

How had he never realised anything amiss? How could he have missed something as important as this?

James glanced over at Thomas, who had a twinkle in his eyes, wearing a relaxed grin. He gestured animatedly as he spoke enthusiastically. James offered Thomas a small smile, the first sign of acknowledgement throughout the ride, and Thomas beamed widely in response.

What had happened in France to transform the insecure, awkward boy James had known in college into someone bursting with such confidence and self-assurance? What _else_ had happened in France to create Lafayette?

Whatever it was, James would make sure Thomas knew that he was here to lend a shoulder. He would protect Thomas from the demons of his past. He would be here for Thomas.

He had always been here for Thomas. That would never change.

James drew up in front of their house and Thomas paused his chatter, a sudden thought seeming to have struck him. He grabbed the pocket watch James hung around his rear view mirror and checked the time before turning to James with wide eyes. James raised a questioning eyebrow in response.

“If we hurried to the company, we could still make it for my afternoon meeting!” Thomas exclaimed and James nodded, turning back to the road, stepping down on the accelerator.

“Wait wait wait!” Thomas cried out, flailing an arm in front of James’ line of sight. The car skidded to a stop and James faced Thomas with a frown. Thomas gestured at their lack of formal clothing- his white undershirt and James’ messily thrown on overcoat- a result of them also rushing out of the house that morning. “We can’t go to the office in this,” Thomas explained, unbuckling himself and hurrying towards the front door.

Thomas reached the front door and jiggled the doorknob, frowning at its lack of response. James grabbed the house keys from his dashboard and stepped out of the car, shaking his head with a chuckle. Good to know that some things never changed; Thomas was still a mess when he was in a frenzy.

“You forgot the keys,” James called out as he took his time strolling up to Thomas, nudging him aside to unlock the door. Thomas tapped his foot impatiently, meaning to convey urgency, but it only amused James as he pushed the front door open.

“You’re the best, Jemmy,” Thomas gave James a one-handed embrace around his waist before rushing up the stairs. James chuckled again, pulling his overcoat off, hanging it across the back of the couch just as Thomas came thumping down the stairs again.

“What’s the hurry?” James teased, taking his grey waistcoat and tailcoat as Thomas handed it to him.

“Hamilton!” Thomas complained, fastening his own indigo waistcoat and pulling on his matching tailcoat. “He’s evil, Jemmy. He’s out to get me. If I’m not present for at least one meeting today, I’m sure he’s going to tell Washington how lazy I am and that he deserves the promotion over me.”

“He sounds overly competitive,” James sympathised.

“That’s not all,” Thomas continued, grabbing his papers off his work desk and stalking out of the house. James followed close behind. “He plays dirty. He’ll twist words to get his way. I don’t know why Washington likes him, but I have to prove to Washington that Hamilton’s wrong.”

Both men flopped back into their car seats, fully dressed for work. Thomas released a long and loud sigh as he gestured for James to start the car again.

This time, the journey was quiet with only the ruffling of papers as Thomas reshuffled his written articles on his lap.

“I want to see this Hamilton,” James was the one that struck up conversation. He could see Thomas turning towards him in his peripheral vision but kept his eyes on the road, “I want to see just how bad he is.”

“Oh, James,” Thomas shook his head, a mischievous grin in his voice, “I’ll show you how I deal with a little trickster like him.”

James returned the smile, pulling up outside the newspaper company. He stepped out of the car and locked it, adjusting his tailcoat as Thomas crumpled the neat stack of loose papers by pressing them against his chest.

“Come on, Jemmy!” Thomas urged, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the building.

Maybe Thomas didn’t mean anything by it, but the casual and comfortable way Thomas slipped his hand in James’ grip made James blush slightly. It had been a while since they _literally_ worked hand-in-hand.

Thomas lead James up the stairs to the third level and weaved through crowds of people with practised agility. James stumbled along with less grace, mumbling an apology to the people and tables he bumped into.

They emerged at the far end of the building, pausing in front of a door labeled ‘Meeting Room’. Thomas released James’ hand and stepped forward, raising his hand to knock.

Before he could, the door opened, startling both of them.

“Mr Washington, Sir,” Thomas cleared his throat and straightened, greeting the bald man that exited the meeting room.

Washington looked up from the papers in his hand and frowned disapprovingly at Thomas before turning away and continuing on his way.

“Sir, I can explain-” Thomas called after him, but Washington waved a dismissive ‘I don’t want to hear your excuse’ hand at him as he left and Thomas dropped his hands to his sides in failure. He stared at the articles he had worked so hard on, the people streaming out of the room bumping into him unsympathetically.

“Thomas,” James said, stepping forward and placing a supportive hand on his shoulder as the stream of people became just a few individuals lagging behind. It must be terrible to get on Washington’s bad side if his simple dismissal made Thomas so flustered.

“I have to… I have to make Washington understand,” Thomas gestured at his articles, his voice smaller than usual. James hated seeing Thomas so helpless. What could he do? James wrapped him in a tight hug and Thomas slumped in his grip, sniffling into his shoulder; weak, vulnerable. What had happened to all his confidence? How easily had dismissal wiped away his self-assurance?

There was something wrong here and James couldn’t place his finger on what it was.

They pulled apart as the meeting room door creaked shut, the last person having exited the room.

Dressed in green, the man smirked at Thomas before strolling casually back to his desk, a stack of papers in his hand with a large ‘APPROVED’ stamp mocking Thomas.

Immediately Thomas’ posture shifted; he straightened, taking a deep breath and puffing his chest out. His gaze hardened, his expression twisting into a scowl.

James chuckled to himself and patted Thomas’ shoulder at the familiar expression he was wearing; Man-in-Green (supposedly Hamilton, if Thomas’ aggravation was anything to go by) was about to get what was coming to him because Thomas was now provoked and _angry_.

“Hamilton,” Thomas growled, stomping after him to his desk, “What did you say to Washington about me?”

“Who said I said anything to Washington about you?” Hamilton met Thomas’ snarl with a deceivingly innocent smile, placing his ‘APPROVED’ articles face-up on his desk and turning around to face Thomas.

James came up behind Thomas and backed him with a glower of his own at Hamilton.

“I know what that cheeky smile of yours means, Hamilton,” Thomas gnashed his teeth together, fists clenching.

Hamilton shrugged, seemingly unperturbed by Thomas’ anger. “I didn’t tell Washington anything,” Hamilton continued to insist in that disgustingly sweet voice.

Thomas growled and stepped into his personal space, pressing him back against his desk. He wasn’t touching Hamilton, he wasn’t physically threatening him, but that simple motion of getting into his face made Hamilton uncomfortable.

“Okay, maybe I _suggested_ to Washington that you weren’t as committed to this company as I am,” Hamilton admitted, “Maybe I _hinted_ that I could contribute more to this company if he promoted me instead of you. What’s it to you?”

Hamilton was careful with his words, shrugging nonchalantly.

Thomas’ breath hitched in his throat before he stepped back and took a proper deep breath. Hamilton released a sigh of relief, the only betrayal of his haughty act that indicated Thomas had intimidated him.

“Thomas,” James began in a low voice, a hand on his back, ready to guide him away. He would bring Thomas to a quiet place and let all the anger sizzle out before returning to face the situation level-headed. It sounded like a good plan to James; in his head, at least.

“YOU DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH EFFORT I PUT INTO MY WORK, HAMILTON!” Thomas bellowed, a single crack in his thundering voice giving away the helplessness he felt. James jumped at Thomas’ outburst and the entire level of workers turned to watch their argument, appreciating the sudden entertainment that popped up in the middle of the workday. Hamilton stumbled under Thomas’ explosion, quickly stabilising himself and meeting his glare. “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO-”

“THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN AT THE REALLY IMPORTANT MEETING, JEFFERSON!” Hamilton countered, rage boiling in his voice. “IT’S YOUR OWN FAULT; YOU WORTHLESS, USELESS-”

“Alexander! Thomas!” Washington’s raised voice boomed louder than Hamilton’s screams, capturing the attention of the entire level of workers. Thomas flinched, unclear if his response was due to Washington’s loud voice or Hamilton’s words. Everyone turned to see Washington standing by the door of his office room, eyebrows furrowed, arms akimbo. “My office! Now!”

Hamilton shoved past Thomas and stomped to Washington’s office. Thomas stumbled back and James grabbed his arm, holding him upright.

“Thomas,” James repeated, turning him around to face him. “You okay?”

Thomas nodded, staring at his feet, wiping a stray tear with a finger. James guided Thomas’ head up with a finger on his chin and stared into his glistening, watery eyes. Thomas’ anger had dissolved into vulnerability. Thomas needed support right now, not another berate from Washington.

James tightened his grip around Thomas’ arm. “You need me in there with you?” James asked gently.

Thomas gave him a weak smile but shook his head firmly.

James let him go and Thomas shuffled into Washington’s office after Hamilton, his head kept bowed.

James had not seen Thomas so… lost, for a long time. What had Hamilton done that tore down his resolve so quickly?

The door closed and yelling began from within the office almost immediately. The contrasting silence outside the office stretched on for too long, as though time had stopped around James, everyone distracted by the shouting in the room.

James noted that the muffled screamings were distinctly coming from Hamilton and Washington, but there were none from Thomas.

What was Thomas doing? Had he given up? Was he not going to fight for the promotion stolen from him that he so rightly deserved?

James had the mind to barge into the office and demand fair treatment of employees when the door clicked open. Workers returned to their work, not wanting to be caught staring. Thomas emerged from the office first, glassy-eyed and distant as he turned and headed towards his left, disappearing into a corridor. Hamilton marched out after him, a scowl on his face. James made way for Hamilton as he came up to his desk and shoved his papers into a messy pile, grabbing them and heading out.

“Hamilton,” James called after him. Hamilton stopped and turned back at him with narrowed eyes. “What happened?” James queried.

“Washington fired both of us,” Hamilton spat, “he said he’ll send us a letter detailing what we have to do if we want out job back, but until then, it’s your boyfriend’s fault we both lost our jobs.”

"He's not my-" James sucked his cheeks in, as though to hide the way they reddened. “I’m sure it’s not Thomas’ fault any more than it was yours,” James straightened and snapped back in response, bristling at Hamilton’s accusations.

Hamilton sneered and left, leaving James to find Thomas.

James turned into the corridor Thomas had walked into to find that it led straight to the washroom. He pressed his ear against the door; it was silent within.

“Thomas?” James said quietly as he pushed the door open. “It’s me, James.”

There, in front of the mirror, stood Thomas- not Thomas, _Lafayette_ , fluffing his ponytail, eyes clear as day, a completely different person from the man who entered the bathroom moments earlier.

“James!” Lafayette greeted as James entered the washroom, a genuine smile at his lips as he embraced James and pressed a kiss to each of his cheek.

“Lafayette,” James nodded back at Lafayette- Thomas’ _alternate personality_ \- uncomfortable with his level of intimacy. Lafayette didn’t realise or ignored James’ attempt to pull out of his tight grip and wrapped him in another hug instead, beaming with James’ recognition of him. “Where’s… Where’s Thomas?” James asked as Lafayette finally released him.

“Thomas needed a break,” Lafayette explained, the smile never faltering.

“I heard that Thomas was fired,” James continued.  
Lafayette nodded, his face falling instantly, mournful.

“The world isn’t very good to Thomas, is it?” he asked, shaking his head, his voice soft.

Despite his sad expression, there was something contrastingly scary in his eyes. Something uncharacteristically dangerous. This was a different side of Lafayette and James did _not_ like what he saw.

“I guess not,” James shrugged, unsure of where Lafayette was going with this.

Lafayette lit up in glee at James’ response. James realised that Lafayette took his agreement as an indirect approval of something. Before he could ask what was going on, Lafayette was pushing him out of the washroom and down the stairs, out of the building.

“Where are we going?” James finally managed to sound out his concerns.

“To make things right for Thomas,” Lafayette declared, jiggling the car keys in his hand. James’ hand darted to his now empty tailcoat pocket where the car keys had been- Lafayette had stolen the keys right out of his pocket without him noticing!

“How did you...” James began, trailing off into shocked silence as Lafayette sat him down on the front passenger seat. It wasn’t until Lafayette took the steering wheel himself that James found his voice again.

“Wait, Thomas doesn’t know how to drive!” James exclaimed, but Lafayette chuckled.

“Do not worry, I learnt to drive in France,” Lafayette assured him before stepping down on the accelerator with such force that James was pressed against the back of his seat as they sped off.

\--------

When they finally lurched to a stop outside a bar, James gasped for breath, his head pounding with the speed they had been travelling at.

Lafayette got out of the car and walked around the vehicle to open James’ door for him. He bent down and unbuckled James’ seatbelt for him, steadying James as he stepped out.

“That…” James swallowed in an attempt to regulate his breathing, “That was not safe driving.”

Lafayette only laughed, dropping the car keys back into James’ tailcoat pocket with a pat.

“Let me show you something, oui?” Lafayette grinned, leading James into the bar. James stumbled after him, the world still spinning, gripping onto Lafayette’s arm when they paused at the entrance of the bar.

Lafayette gestured at the bar counter and James willed his vision to stop swirling, narrowing his eyes in focus at the figure hunched on his stool, a couple empty shot glasses littered on the table. James gasped when he realised who it was.

“You knew Hamilton would be here?” James hissed in a low voice, as though Hamilton could hear him from across the bar. “Why would we come to the same bar as Hamilton?”

“We’re going to make things right for Thomas,” Lafayette told James, “now watch.”

Lafayette slipped through the crowd easily, his lean figure easy to maneuver. James pushed his way through and plopped himself down on the bar stool next to Lafayette, where Lafayette had positioned himself next to Hamilton. He was careful not to look directly at Hamilton, lest Hamilton recognised him. James supposed that the dim lights of the bar were enough to hide their distinct features, but the different hair-do and the French accent would throw off a tipsy Hamilton from realising Lafayette was Thomas anyway.

“ _Mademoiselle_ ,” Lafayette groaned, calling the bartender over, French accent more exaggerated than usual, “A couple shots to drown my sorrows with, _merci_.”

James was impressed by Lafayette’s acting skills; it was clear he was no beginner actor. Did Thomas have the same acting skills as Lafayette? Had Thomas been regularly practising his acting skills for Lafayette to produce it so smoothly?

It dawned on James that Thomas could have been acting this whole time, with all his confidence and self-assurance. Was Thomas trying to hide his insecurities? Was this why Thomas broke down so quickly today?

“Rough day?” Hamilton chuckled, striking up conversation with Lafayette immediately, his tongue already loose from the buzz of alcohol.

“Oui,” Lafayette sighed, “I was fired today.”

“Me too,” Hamilton laughed, raising a shot glass to their plight as Lafayette was served. They clinked glasses and down their shots, slamming the glasses back on the bar counter.

“You’re from France? I speak French!” Hamilton announced, his voice too loud to be sober, turning to face Lafayette. Lafayette cast Hamilton a coy look over his shoulder, distractedly fiddling with his shot glasses, spinning the empty glass on his index finger. “Are you new around here?” Hamilton asked.

The bartender gestured at James with a non-verbal ‘What would you like?’ and James smiled at her but shook his head. The bartender headed to the other end of the counter to serve other customers and James turned his attention back to Lafayette’s and Hamilton’s conversation.

“You could say that,” Lafayette replied, “Tell me more about yourself…” Lafayette trailed off, gesturing at Hamilton.

“Alexander,” Hamilton supplied.

“A-lex-an- _dre_ ,” Lafayette repeated, emphasising each syllable of his name with a teasing grin, “Je m’appelle Lafayette.”

“Laffy Taffy,” Hamilton laughed, an attempt to return the tease, definitely tipsy. Lafayette must have grasped that too, turning fully towards Hamilton, no longer afraid of being recognised.

“So tell me more about yourself, Alexandre,” Lafayette probed, “What happened? Why were you fired?”

“I was fired for kicking this ass’ ASS!” Hamilton laughed.

“What did he do?” Lafayette questioned.

“Oh, nothing, I just didn’t like him. He was an arrogant prick with a full scholarship or something to France and he came back and our boss just _loves_ him,” Hamilton babbled on, gesturing wide.

“Sounds like he deserves what he had coming for him, non?” Lafayette continued to bait, the slightest tremble in his calm voice. James wasn’t looking at them directly, but he had a hunch that Lafayette’s expression must have darkened, fingertips white around the shot glass he was holding.

James shifted on his seat, ready to step in between them if he needed to.

“He did! I had it out for him from day one,” Hamilton announced, proud of his own ‘accomplishments’. He then downed another shot and slammed his hands hard on the counter, shot glasses vibrating with the impact. “Let me tell you what I have done to mess with him so far. I have been bad mouthing him from the day I joined. I spread nasty rumours about him. You know, things like how he plagiarized from other sources or how he paid someone to write his articles for him, that kind of things.”

“I see,” Lafayette’s smile thinned, his even voice hiding the currents of anger beneath.

“I did it so well that word got up to the boss!” Hamilton bragged, “and now, the boss is beginning to see him in a different light and Jefferson- the guy I hate- is beginning to suspect something so I think, I gotta step up my game. Conveniently, today, we had a really important meeting and Jefferson, he didn’t show up for some reason. Now that just sealed my rumours of him slacking off and being lazy and the boss asks me, ‘Hamilton, what’s up with Thomas?’- that’s his name- and I say ‘I don’t think he cares about this company anymore.’ That’s all I did!”

“So how did you get fired?” Lafayette pushed on.

“Oh you know, Jefferson finally shows up and maybe I was mocking him a little too openly because he came after me immediately and we started shouting and the boss fired both of us for unprofessionalism,” Hamilton sighed, “but at least I got him fired as well, right!”

“So, this Jefferson, he actually never did anything wrong?” Lafayette concluded.

“I guess not,” Hamilton shrugged.

“You admit that you were the cause of his downfall, oui?” Lafayette drew out a direct confession.

“That is right, put it on my grave, let it be what I am remembered for,” Hamilton affirmed with a wide grin, raising another shot glass for a celebratory toast.

Lafayette stood up suddenly. James jumped in his seat at the abruptness and Hamilton released a little squeak in surprise. James whirled around to face them just as Lafayette grabbed Hamilton’s cravat and dragged him off his seat, the shorter man struggling in Lafayette’s grip.

Lafayette said something to Hamilton in French, his low voice dripping with menace.

“Woah, Laf, chill out. You don’t even know this guy, why are you so protective of him? Sure he worked hard but he had a shit personality-”

Hamilton cowered as Lafayette’s fist shot up in preparation to punch him.

“Thomas!” James yelled on instinct, grabbing his fist from behind. “Lafayette,” James corrected himself, patting Lafayette’s elbow and pulling his arm down. “let it go. There’s no need to be violent.”

Lafayette took in a sharp intake of air and relented, dropping Hamilton on the ground. Hamilton stumbled backwards and tripped on something, landing on his ass.

James was aware of the way the bar hushed into silence like the aftermath of a tsunami.

“What’s your problem!” Hamilton yelled up at Lafayette. That only aggravated Lafayette further and he grabbed a shot glass from the bar counter, pouring it over Hamilton then dropping the glass onto his stomach.

“What the fuck-” Hamilton began, but Lafayette cut him off by leaning down and breathing right into Hamilton’s face.

“Mess with Thomas again,” Lafayette snarled, “and you’ll lose your life next time. Oui?”

“Lafayette,” James tugged on his arm, pulling him back. People were staring, watching. Lafayette wasn’t concerned about them, shouting what must be the French equivalent of ‘ _What are you looking at!_ ’ at them. The crowd made way for him silently as Lafayette stalked out of the bar.

James muttered an apology that was too soft for anyone to hear, hurrying after Lafayette.

Lafayette was pacing by the car, working his anger out. He stopped as James approached but James pointed a finger at him.

“Keep walking,” James instructed, and Lafayette went back to pacing while James unlocked their car. He would not have a riled-up Lafayette in his car. Lafayette stole. Lafayette sped. Lafayette was violent. Who knew what else Lafayette was capable of in his agitated state?

Lafayette attempted to clamber into the driving seat as soon as James unlocked the car but James held a hand up and Lafayette stopped.

“Back seat,” James commanded, and Lafayette slung into the back seat, crossing his arms and pouting sullenly. James started the car and began the drive home.

James rolled down the windows, hoping that the cool evening breeze would calm Lafayette down. Both of them stayed silent for the majority of the journey back; tension slowly but surely dissipating.

They were nearing their house when James finally cleared his throat.

“What were you thinking?” James asked, keeping his tone soft. He wasn’t angry, he was concerned. James looked at Lafayette through the rear view mirror and caught him gazing back at him, before turning away.

“I was protecting Thomas,” Lafayette muttered.

“With _violence_?” James glanced over his shoulder at Lafayette, seeing his moody hunched figure and crossed arms.

“I protect Thomas by any means necessary,” Lafayette stated, “we all do.”

The car rumbled to a stop outside their house. James unbuckled himself and turned to face Lafayette.

“ _We_?!” James echoed.

“Oui,” Lafayette said in response, a little smug this time.

“How many of you are there?” James demanded.

“Before France or after France?” Lafayette smirked, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward. “Before France? Maybe quatre. Four. Three of them are fragments. After France? Them, plus _moi_. Oui, that makes five of us, excluding Thomas.”

“Why… why are there so many?” James gasped.

Lafayette laughed, a mean laugh, like it was painfully obvious. He unbuckled himself and got out of the car, walking straight to the front door, forcing James to scramble after him.

“Thomas isn’t very stable, if you hadn’t realised,” Lafayette pointed out, leaning against the front door as James fumbled with his keys, “the one that confronted Hamilton in the office today? That wasn’t Thomas. That was Anger. A fragment.”

“A fragment,” James repeated, pushing the front door open. “A specific emotion that can overwhelm momentarily as a reaction.”

“Oui, something like that,” Lafayette nodded, heading up the stairs. James followed him to Thomas’ room. He stood at the doorway while Lafayette entered, standing by the bed.

“How have I never noticed it before?” James questioned. He looked up at Lafayette who had pulled his hairband off, fluffing his afro back into shape. “What happened in France?” James continued to ask.

Lafayette smiled, a kinder smile this time.

“My time is up,” he simply told James, slinging the hairband back around his wrist.

“Wait-” James rushed forward, but Lafayette had closed his eyes. His entire demeanor shifted before James; his calm expression tightening, relaxed posture tensing slightly, exhaling audibly before he opened his eyes again.

It was Thomas’ arm that James grabbed; it was Thomas’ disoriented gaze that he looked up into.

“Thomas,” James breathed out, gripping him tight, afraid of losing him again.

“James?” Thomas mumbled, raising a hand to his mouth and sniffing the alcohol in his breath. His eyes darted around his room, understanding his whereabouts. “Did I drink and pass out? Did you bring me home?”

James didn’t know how else to explain how they got home so he nodded mutely.

“Sorry for being a burden,” Thomas whispered and James shook his head hard, sitting both of them down on his bed.

“Do you remember what happened?” James asked softly.

Thomas blinked at him in confusion, then bit his wobbling lower lip as the memories of that afternoon came back. James pulled Thomas into a hug, letting Thomas rest his head on his shoulder.

“I lost my job,” Thomas whimpered, “I’m sorry, James. I’m so useless-”

“You’re not useless,” James told him firmly, tightening his arms around Thomas’ chest.

“I owe Washington my education in France and I couldn’t even do my job properly,” Thomas said, his words garbled, fat tears darkening James’ tailcoat.

“Washington owes you whatever happened in France,” James said, words emerging a little harsher than he intended to.

“What?”

“Nothing,” James soothed Thomas, patting his back and hushing him softly until Thomas ran out of tears and fell asleep against his shoulder.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is supposedly a period-era story but homophobia is not the focus nor a theme of this story so I will not be addressing it.
> 
> Okay, here's where it gets a little... messy. Stick with me. Let me know if anything is unclear/has to be better explained.
> 
> As always, let me know if something is wildly medically inaccurate. I'm always open to criticisms.

They were awakened by insistent knocking at their front door.

They lay horizontally across the middle of Thomas’ bed, still tangled in each other’s arms. Thomas had somehow curled into a ball during their slumber and was enveloped by James’ figure. He was lying on one of James’ arms, his head pressed against James’ chest and his wild hair tickling James’ chin.

Thomas rolled over and yawned, blinking tiredly at the ceiling. He turned back to James and gave him a sleepy smile, eyes dazed as though he was still in a dream. James opened his mouth to greet Thomas, but Thomas shifted upwards and nuzzled his face into James’ neck with a content sigh, closing his eyes again.

James smiled. It was comforting to know that Thomas had a good night’s rest despite what happened yesterday. The blissful, relaxed expression on Thomas’ face was enough for James to ignore the numbness in his arm and to lie there a little longer in silence, watching Thomas’ slow, rhythmic breathing as he slept.

Finally, whoever was at the door became tired of knocking and rang the doorbell instead. The loud, impatient shrill that echoed throughout the house jerked Thomas wide awake.

Thomas sat up in bed, tensed and blinking rapidly as his mind scrambled to decipher what the noise was. When he realised it was just the doorbell, he huffed in annoyance and lay back down. Feeling an arm beneath him, Thomas turned on his side to face James, their noses almost touching.

“Good morning,” James whispered, smiling at Thomas.

“Good morning,” Thomas returned the smile, awake this time.

Thomas was an affectionate person- sometimes a little too affectionate- but James was aware that even Thomas knew they were a little too close in this moment, a little too intimate. They were friends, best friends; friends were not typically comfortable with this level of intimacy.

Neither moved apart.

They always had something between them, James supposed, the simple way of how they became fast friends; how naturally they fell in step with each other, worked in synchronization, complemented each other. How even after 5 years away and all the changes that had happened to both of them, the fundamental basis of their friendship held strong and here they were, as though they had never been separated.

James could lay there forever, gazing at Thomas, staring into his soft eyes and admiring his sleepy half-smile. Thomas seemed to share similar sentiments, his gaze never breaking James’.

When did their relationship move on beyond friendship?

James didn’t know. James didn’t care.

He just wanted the world around them to stop and Thomas to lie there next to him forever. He wanted to hold Thomas and protect him from the evil of the world.

James felt a blush warm his cheeks. He was certainly not going to ask what this new development in their relationship meant. He would not be the one to venture into new territory. That was Thomas’ job. Thomas made the first moves. Thomas made the final decisions. His job as a friend- as more than a friend?- was to support Thomas, be the backbone of their relationship.

That has always been how their dynamics worked. James wouldn’t want to disrupt the balance they had by introducing something new if Thomas wasn’t going to do it.

Thomas, however, seemed to interpret James’ blush as uncomfortability. He pulled away and sat up, flushing red himself.

James bit back the whimper that threatened to emerge. He hadn’t wanted their moment together to end so quickly.

“I’ll see who’s at the door,” Thomas said hurriedly, tugging off the tailcoat from yesterday he had slept in and draping it at the corner of his bed before heading downstairs.

There was no one at the door because the doorbell had stopped ringing five minutes ago.

James sighed and sat up. Since Thomas was let go from his job yesterday, they didn't have plans for today. Maybe they could explore the neighbourhood, see what has changed since Thomas left for France. Maybe he could concoct a plan to get Thomas to tell him what happened in France so James could help him… help Lafayette protect Thomas, keep Thomas safe.

“ _James!_ ” Thomas shrilled from down the corridor. James turned just in time for Thomas to fling himself onto James, pushing him back down on the bed in excitement, waving an envelope in his face.

They were back to the familiar territory of Thomas’ over-affectionate gestures.

“What’s that?” James asked slowly, heaving Thomas off him. Thomas rolled over and lay on his stomach, still waving the envelope at James.

“It’s a letter from Washington,” Thomas explained, ripping the envelope apart and pulling out the letter within. “I bet he’s offering me my job back!”

Thomas scanned the letter quickly as James sat up and tried to peek over Thomas’ shoulders at the letter. Thomas’ expression fell quickly, a shiver running through his tensed muscles.

"What is it?” James prompted.

“Washington says that before Hamilton and I can return to the company,” Thomas paused to wrinkle his nose at the name, “we have to learn to work with and trust each other. He’s asking me to head uptown to ask the community there some questions regarding fashion… and Hamilton will use my results to write the report that we’re supposed to hand in as proof of our camaraderie.”

Thomas dropped the letter on the bed and rolled over on his back, pulling the blanket over his head. He groaned loudly under the sheets before swinging himself into an upright position, sitting at the edge of the bed. He was quiet for a moment and James took this time to shift so he sat next to Thomas, placing a hand on Thomas’ shoulder.

“I don’t like this task, James,” Thomas said quietly, “I don’t like to approach people; I don’t like to interview people.”

“Didn’t you learn the proper way to interview on the streets in France?” James tried to encourage Thomas, “Just do it the textbook way. Greet, ask questions and goodbye.”

“I know how to do it,” Thomas defended himself, “but that doesn’t mean I like to do it, James. What if I do it wrong?” Thomas lowered his voice into a whisper. “What if I fail? I don’t want to deal with people; I don’t want to deal with Hamilton.”

Thomas shuddered at whatever was running through his mind. It might have been a flashback of a bad experience or the possible negative outcomes of working with Hamilton. Either way, there was now a haunted look, a darkened gaze in his eyes.

Seems like whatever he had learnt in France had taught him how to hold himself, how to present himself, but not how to face the fears that had followed him since college.

Seems like Thomas’ trip to France had been more harmful than helpful.

“Look, Thomas,” James took his hand, “I can’t do much to help you, but I will be right there by your side supporting you.”

“Your presence helps me so much, James,” Thomas whispered back, his voice shaking, “I’m so lucky to have a friend like you.”

A friend.

James squeezed his hand and forced a smile.

Thomas took a deep breath and stood up, clearing his throat in an attempt to regain control of the situation. “At least it’s fashion, right?” Thomas grinned, ever optimistic, “I’m well versed in the area of fashion.”

To prove his point, Thomas marched forward and threw his closet door open, gesturing at the variety of clothes he owned. As his arm swung down the rainbow from indigo to red, he froze when he faced Lafayette’s black clothes hidden in the corner, his breath catching in his throat.

“Thomas?” James stood up from the bed and walked around a frozen and tensed Thomas, coming face to face with him. Thomas had closed his eyes, the expression on his face filled with a sudden calm. The kind of calm before a storm.

James placed a careful hand on Thomas’ arm and Thomas’ eyes flew wide open.

For a moment, James swore it was Lafayette staring back at him. Lafayette, with an intensity in his eyes James didn’t like. Lafayette, ready to fight, ready to argue, ready to defend. Lafayette was the storm, waiting to tear apart anything in his way.

“Lafayette?” James tried, but Lafayette blinked and he was gone, Thomas frowning in his place, tension leaving his limbs. Thomas blinked- once, twice- before shaking his head slowly.

“That was weird,” Thomas laughed, high pitched and nervous, brushing James’ hand off his arm.

“What was that?” James tried to ask but Thomas only laughed again, an unconvincing, fake laugh.

“I guess I better… get ready to head out. You should start the car, or something,” Thomas told James, obviously finding excuses for James to leave as he escorted James out of his room.

Thomas closed the door in James’ face.

Did Thomas recognise Lafayette’s presence? Did he know about his disorder? Was Thomas aware of the other alters and fragments Lafayette had told him about?

Screw what the doctor had said about not alerting Thomas of his condition. James had to ask Thomas how much he was aware of, point blank. It was risky, but it was the only way he could help Thomas.

\----------

They met by the car. Thomas was wearing a tailcoat of another shade of purple, a darker shade. He looked distracted but James had a feeling it was no longer his job scope Thomas was worried about.

He was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the ride, staring out the window. His fingers gripped a stack of papers tightly in one hand, rolling a ballpoint pen in the other. Thomas was thinking hard, no doubt about what had just happened. James hoped Thomas trusted him enough to open up, tell him what was wrong so they could fix it together.

“Penny for your thoughts?” James prodded.

“Just worried about the job,” Thomas fibbed, turning towards James and offering him a big plastic smile before turning away again.

James left him to his thoughts and drove the rest of the way in silence. He would have to find another way to interrogate Thomas.

They finally reached uptown and James pulled the car to a stop outside a busy part of the street. The commotion startled Thomas out of his thoughts and back to the present.

“We’re here,” James placed a gentle hand on Thomas’ shoulder, shaking him lightly when Thomas simply stared at the crowd, frozen in his seat. “Do you want me out there with you?”

Thomas shook his head stiffly, casting his gaze to the ground. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, composing himself.

For a moment, he stilled.

When Thomas opened his eyes again, his back straightened, his eyes bright and worry-free, his smile wide and genuine.

If James didn’t know any better, he would claim that Thomas had placed his worries aside and focused on the task at hand. He would assume that the sudden way Thomas’ features lit up was a journalism strategy and part of his very convincing acting.

However, James _did_ know better. Thanks to Lafayette, James was now aware of and on the lookout for the other alters and fragments in Thomas.

This wasn’t Thomas. This was someone else.

“You’re not Thomas,” James spoke bluntly, drawing the attention of Not-Thomas. Not-Thomas turned to James with a big smile. “Who are you?”

He seemed surprised that James noticed the change, before his expression relaxed back into the smile. “I’m Happy,” he said, his voice a little higher, a little floaty.

“A fragment,” James breathed.

Happy was very different from the facade of confidence (that did not hold well under pressure) that Thomas portrayed. He was more like a teenager viewing the world through rose-tinted glasses. Calm and peaceful; James supposed Happy dealt with this kind of interactions where Thomas was required to be smiley, open and interactive.

Happy nodded. “How did you know?” He asked, cocking his head to the side questioningly.

“Lafayette told me,” James said.

“Lafayette?” Happy echoed. A shadow flickered in his bright eyes, a frown twitching at the corners of his perfect smile. Happy leaned towards James, his eyes darting all around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. He seemed afraid to disclose the following information.

“Don’t trust Lafayette,” Happy whispered.

“What?”

“He’s evil,” Happy told James, his high voice laced with a sense of urgency.

“What do you mean?” James demanded.

Happy leaned back and blinked a couple times, his smile plastered across his face again.

“Core says he’ll explain it to you later,” Happy beamed, unbuckling himself and exiting the car.

“Who’s Core?” James called after him.

Happy just turned back to him with a puzzled expression. “What do you mean? You’ve met Core,” Happy said, before skipping off and disappearing from sight, lost in the busy streets.

James flopped back against his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. He was trying so hard to understand the situation and help Thomas but different parts of Thomas kept dropping bombs on James.

First, there was Lafayette. Then, James discovered there were others. Now, Lafayette was evil?

Mr Core had better have a good, complete explanation to help James understand what was going on inside Thomas.

\-------

It was late evening when Thomas returned to the car.

James knew it was Thomas because he looked completely exhausted, drained, the smile long gone from his face.

“I hate my job,” Thomas grumbled as he slid into the front passenger seat and slammed the car door close, thrusting his papers and pen onto the dashboard and buckling himself in with sweaty hands.

“What happened?” James chuckled.

“I was doing the surveys, right? At one point in time, it hit me that I didn’t know where the heck I was and how I arrived there,” Thomas huffed. James quickly understood that Happy had left Thomas in the middle of the streets to find his way back to the car alone. “I wandered along the streets for _hours_ before I finally circled back here.”

“Well, you’re here now,” James smiled, reaching out and pushing Thomas’ messy curls out of his face, combing them behind his ear.

The world seemed to pause with his simple gesture.

Thomas breathed out slowly with the gentle brush of James’ fingers against the side of his face. James’ fingers slid lower, cupping Thomas’ cheek in his hand. Thomas did nothing to put more distance between them, instead locking his gaze with James’.

There it was. The intimacy between them that suggested they were more than friends. The electric touch of attraction. The taste of something beyond friendship.

The only thing holding them back was their hesitation. The worry of losing what they currently had. The fear of diving into the unknown.

James pulled away and turned back to face the road, both hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Did you collect all the data you need?” James asked, words emerging in a squeak, rushed out in a single breath.

“Y-yeah, I think I did,” Thomas stumbled over his words.

“Where to, now?” James questioned, tapping his index finger against the steering wheel.

“The bar?” Thomas suggested, a hand on his forehead, stretching back against his seat. “I need to drink my troubles away.”

“As long as you don’t drink as much as yesterday,” James made himself smile at Thomas.

“I promise. Drinking two nights in a row? I guess that can’t be good,” Thomas said with a laugh that was just as forced.

The silence that stretched between them this time was uncomfortable.

\-------

Thomas downed more than Lafayette had drank yesterday in the first few minutes they arrived at the bar.

Maybe it was because of his job. Maybe it was because of his possible awareness of Lafayette. Maybe it was because of the uncertain relationship between both of them.

Whatever it was, Thomas was determined to forget the day’s events.

Perhaps it was a good thing. A tipsy Thomas would have his guard down and be more open to answering James’ carefully worded interrogation. With any luck, Thomas wouldn’t even remember James’ questions tomorrow morning.

The alcoholic effects kicked in quickly and Thomas became giggly, tugging James’ arm, attempting to pull him out of their corner booth and towards the dance floor.

“Dance with me, Jemmy,” Thomas pleaded, feet pattering the ground like a spoilt child not getting what he wanted.

“No. I hate dancing and you hate crowds,” James pointed out, unmoving in his seat.

“But Jemmy! We came here to have a fun timeeee,” Thomas whined, sliding into the seat opposite James and pouting.

 _Thomas_ came here to have a fun time. James had other matters to address.

“Thomas, I am concerned about you,” James began, gesturing at him.

“I’m fine, Jemmy!” Thomas beamed, swaying slightly in his tipsy state.

“I have noticed some… irregularities in your behaviour,” James treaded carefully, “sometimes it seems as though you become a… a different person.”

“Really?” Thomas placed his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. “Examples?”

“Do you remember your argument with Hamilton yesterday?” James began, “Or what happened after Washington fired you? Or what happened during the interviews this afternoon?”

“Yeah, I-” Thomas said, then frowned for a moment before the tipsy smile reappeared on his face. “No, I don’t. I’m drunk! I don’t remember anything!” Thomas declared.

“Do you not remember because you’re drunk, or because you weren’t… you?” James leaned forward and asked.

“I’m drunk!” Thomas insisted, slamming his arms down on the table.

James had known Thomas for ten years. He knew when Thomas was lying.

“Thomas,” James said, placing his hands over Thomas’ arms, “I won’t tell anyone. You can trust me. I’m here for you.”

Thomas huffed and fell silent, his gaze dropping to his lap. He seemed to be debating with himself whether or not to reveal the truth to James. That would mean Thomas _knew_ ; he was aware of his condition. Thomas took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering close. 

James identified that as an indication that a switch had occured.

“Thomas?” James said softly and whoever it was opened his eyes and looked up at James.

“Oh my,” he said, blinking rapidly, glancing around him, “Thomas is drunk.”

“Yes, he is,” James breathed out, tentative, unsure how to approach the new personality.

Not-Thomas took a moment to find his bearings. He pulled his arms back and straightened, clearing his throat. He shook his head, as though to fight the alcoholic influence and keep his mind clear. Finally, he focused back on James (as much as he could under the effects of alcohol) and smiled a familiar smile.

It was a polite, safe smile. It was cautious but inviting, making him look thoughtful and interested. It was a smile James saw many times in college.

“James,” he spoke, “it is good to see you again. How have you been?”

Thomas was a mess, but this personality was in control of everything he was doing. He was aware and alert of his surroundings; observant, logical, careful. He spoke with a formality that acted as a barrier; a calculated distance between him and the world.

“I’m fine,” James nodded, gesturing at him. “Who…?”

“Silly me, I forgot to introduce myself,” he said with a light-hearted chuckle, “I am the Core. I keep the various parts of Thomas together. We met in college.”

“I never realised,” James frowned at himself.

“Please, do not fault yourself for not noticing Thomas’ condition,” Core added, “Thomas did not want you to know. He still does not want you to know. I play a good impression of Thomas when I have to.”

“So, Thomas knows?” James asked.

“Thomas thinks he is cured, but he has his suspicions that he might not be as whole as he believed himself to be. It is all Lafayette’s fault,” Core turned his nose up at the mention of Lafayette the same way Thomas expressed his disdain for Hamilton.

“...Lafayette,” Core repeated to himself, as though remembering why he had appeared before James. James was about to mention what Happy had told him when something clicked in Core’s mind and he grew solemn, reaching across the table and grabbing James’ arm with an iron grip. The slight alcoholic daze was gone; there was a new sharpness in his eyes, an urgency in his stare. The intensity made a shiver run down James’ spine as he held James’ gaze.

“James, you must _kill_ Lafayette,” Core spoke with utmost seriousness.

“Woah,” James laughed uneasily at that sudden request, “I’m not killing anybody.”

“Listen to me!” Core insisted, “Lafayette is going to steal Thomas’ _life_ if we do not get rid of him.”

“What do you mean?” James frowned.

Core caught himself and released James, taking a deep breath. “My apologies for my outburst,” he swallowed, “I will explain everything.”

“From the start, please,” James responded.

“You must not alert Thomas of anything I tell you,” Core warned. “Thomas trusts you with his life, but he does not trust you with his secret. You must wait for Thomas to be honest with you about his condition before you approach him directly about us.”

“Okay,” James nodded.

“Lafayette revealed himself to you,” Core continued, “which is why I am doing the same. Listen to me carefully, James. Lafayette thinks he is helping Thomas but in reality, he is hurting him.”

“How?”

“In France,” Core’s gaze darkened with the memory, “the new obstacles he faced were very stressful for someone who was already dealing with existing problems. Thomas _gave up_ , James. He did not want to deal with his problems. That is why Lafayette was born, to deal with those problems. He is everything Thomas wants to be. Confident. Confronting. Commanding.”

“French?” James attempted to crack a joke. Core didn’t think it was funny. James dropped his smile.

“When we returned to America, Lafayette’s existence was no longer necessary. He was only created to deal with the problems in France. He should have gone dormant, but Thomas has grown dependent on him. Over-reliant.”

James bit his lip.

“Lafayette is Thomas’ escape route. He deals with the problems Thomas does not want to deal with. The more Thomas withdraws from his problems and the world, the more control Lafayette gains over this body.” Core looked down and gestured at himself, then back up at James again. “He is not a good alter. We are supposed to assist, not overtake. You do not want Lafayette to take over Thomas’ life permanently, do you?”

“Of course not,” James shook his head hard.

“We need your help,” Core reached across the table and placed his hand over James’. “If you care for Thomas, you will help us kill Lafayette before he gets rid of Thomas.”

“Why can’t you stop Lafayette?” James asked quietly. “You’re the Core, right? Central control of the system? Why don’t you have control over him?”

“Lafayette is new. He is not part of my carefully organised system that supports Thomas. He is disrupting the way I look after Thomas. He is beyond my sphere of influence; I have no control over him,” Core replied, his cutting words reflecting his annoyance towards Lafayette.

“What do I have to do?” James whispered, his head spinning with all the information he had just been introduced to.

“I will be in touch. Thomas is so lucky to have you,” Core squeezed his arm, giving James a small grateful smile, before his head suddenly dropped forward and lifted again almost immediately, the tipsy haze returning to his gaze as he blinked at James and pulled his hand back, leaning back in his seat.

“What were we talking about?” Thomas laughed loudly, “I forgot. I’m drunk!” Thomas declared.

“Yes you are, Thomas,” James sighed, standing up. “Let’s go home. You’ve had too much to drink.”

“Whatever you say, Jemmy,” Thomas grabbed hold of James’ arm for support as he stood up. James guided him through the crowd and helped him into the front passenger seat. He strapped Thomas in, then got into the driving seat and started the car.

Thomas was silent for a long time and James thought he had fallen asleep until Thomas leaned sideways towards him.

“I have a secret, Jemmy,” Thomas whispered loudly, still under the effect of the alcohol.

“Yeah?” James said, keeping his eyes on the road. He could think of a couple secrets Thomas might have that he would like to hear.

“I’m afraid to tell you because I’m scared you won’t be my friend anymore,” Thomas admitted.

“Nothing can destroy out ten years of friendship, Thomas,” James promised.

“Okay,” Thomas took a deep breath, “I was the one who started Mac&Cheese Mondays in college.”

James burst into laughter. He remembered complaining to Thomas about the sudden trend. He remembered hating it. That wasn’t the secret he expected Thomas to reveal but he supposed he shouldn’t have expected anything serious when Thomas was drunk.

“Don’t hate me, Jemmy!” Thomas wailed.

“I’m not angry at you, Thomas,” James smiled, “I forgive you.”

“You’re the best, Jemmy,” Thomas beamed and settled back in his seat.

It would be nice if Thomas trusted him enough to be honest about his condition, but that was not what was particularly worrying James right now.

Core wanted him to get rid of Lafayette.

Core wanted him to _kill_ Lafayette.

James didn’t know if he was up to the task.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER. Alters are NOT typically violent or dangerous.

A few days had passed since their trip uptown. Thomas sent a letter to Hamilton, informing him that he had completed his part of Washington’s assigned job. While they waited for Hamilton’s response, Thomas asked James to teach him how to make bacon and eggs.

James stood behind Thomas, both of them in front of the stove, his hand wrapped around Thomas’ as he showed him how to maneuver a spatula. James’ other arm circled around Thomas’ waist, his palm flat on the kitchen countertop.

“So all you have to do is scoop, then turn the spatula around to flip the bacon. Now your turn,” James instructed, releasing his hand. Thomas leaned back as he examined the spatula, closing the gap between them, his lean figure moulding perfectly into James.

James was the fire in a hot air balloon and his fingers tensed on the countertop as his heart fluttered like a flame in the wind.

“Like this?” Thomas mimicked James’ hand actions. James nodded, ducking his head downwards to hide the crimson dusting his cheeks, his head bobbing a little too quickly.

James tried to hide his flustered reactions by bumping into Thomas with his hip in a ‘make room for me’ gesture, taking Thomas’ spot before the stove. Thomas giggled, stepping aside, and James fumbled with the spatula at the sound of an angel’s joyful laughter.

“Now, drizzle a little oil into the pan,” James spoke slowly, partially to compose himself, partially to demonstrate each step, “place the bacon into the pan away from your body before pressing it down with the spatula.”

“What if, we just lay out a plate of oil and drench the bacon in it before dropping it onto the pan?” Thomas suggested in response.

James looked up from the pan to glance at Thomas. He had crossed the kitchen and was pouring cooking oil into a plate, laying a piece of bacon in it.

“That’s too much oil,” James raised his voice slightly, “it’s going to go everywhere!”

“Aha!” Thomas declared triumphantly, heading back towards James with his piece of bacon, dripping oil on the ground. He dropped the bacon from eye level into the pan.

James hissed, dropping the spatula on the floor as hot oil splattered onto his hand.

“Jemmy!” Thomas cried out. He reacted immediately; grabbing James’ arm and tugging him over to the sink. Thomas turned the tap on at full blast and rubbed his thumb slowly over the reddened skin of James’ hand.

James watched Thomas fuss over him, a silent smile at his lips as Thomas turned the tap off and lifted James’ hand to his mouth, blowing at the reddened area.

Thomas eventually noticed James’ silence and glanced up at him with his last puff of air.

“Thank you,” James told him, his smile widening, hoping to put Thomas at ease.

Thomas tensed instead, his grip around James’ hand tightening.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” Thomas said quietly, hanging his head, guilt clouding his eyes. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t be here. I should go. I-”

“Thomas,” James interrupted him. He instinctively wrapped his free arm around Thomas’ waist and pulled him closer. Thomas only shook his head in response, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” James continued, soft but firm, “You, and not anyone else.”

Something in that sentence must have resonated with Thomas, relaxing slowly in James’ arms. He took a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes, meeting James’ gaze.

They were _so close_. James could feel the quick thumps of Thomas’ heart against his chest. He could hear the way Thomas’ breath raced in anticipation. All James had to do was tip-toe and his lips would meet Thomas’. All it took was a little courage on either end, a little bit of confidence, a little bit of ‘fuck it, I’m doing it’.

Instead, they stood there, holding each other, staring into each other’s longing gazes, searching for something in each other’s eyes that they couldn’t find. What were they waiting for? An invitation? An approval? The first move?

They were obviously beyond the friendship line, but why wouldn’t either of them address the obvious affection they had for each other?

“I’m sorry,” Thomas finally whispered to him.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” came James’ reassuring response.

Thomas gave James a shaky but grateful smile and stepped away, releasing his hand. Thomas broke eye contact, focusing on the stove behind James. James’ heart wrung in his chest- punishment for letting Thomas go; pained that their moment was over.

“Oh, no!” Thomas exclaimed, rushing towards the stove and fumbling with the knobs, trying to turn the gas off. They had forgotten that the slices of bacon were still cooking in the pan. James turned to watch Thomas in stunned silence; numbed by his loss, slow in his recovery. Once Thomas succeeded, he grabbed the pan and ran across the kitchen towards the sink.

He stepped on a spot of oil on the floor and would have fallen backwards, had James not snapped back into action and grabbed Thomas’ flailing arms in time, wrapping his arms around Thomas’ waist, pulling him into an unintended embrace.

The pan clattered into the sink behind James as James tightened his grip, burying his face into Thomas’ chest.

James was not letting a second chance slip away, not when every part of him screamed that this was what he wanted, this was what Thomas wanted, this was what they were always supposed to be. Together. A couple.

Thomas hesitated before he wrapped his arms around James’ shoulders, nuzzling his cheek against the top of James’ head.

The words were at the tip of James’ tongue. He just had to open his mouth and say it. _I love you_. He had always loved Thomas. He had always cared for Thomas. He was sure Thomas felt the same way. It was time to make it official between them.

“James, I...” Thomas began and James lifted his head to look at him, a silly little love-struck smile on his face. Thomas could say the words first. James would allow him to.

Thomas trailed off and bit his lip, seeming nervous. Was he unsure of James’ feelings for him? Was he unsure of his own feelings for James?

James understood his apprehension, but Thomas shouldn’t be afraid. Not now. Not after their five years of circling around each other in college. Not after their five years apart, always thinking of and longing for the other. Not after everything that had happened since Thomas returned.

James lifted both his eyebrows, an encouraging gesture to go on.

“James,” Thomas swallowed and repeated, “I have to wash the pan.”

James took a deep breath and forced a smile.

“Okay,” James said, “I’ll leave you to it.”

It wasn’t the right time yet. He had to wait a little longer.

\----------

Just because they didn’t _address_ it didn’t mean that they didn’t _express_ it.

Days later, they were on the couch, a blanket draped over them. James was reading a book. Thomas was curled up beside him, snuggled into his side, arms wrapped around James’ waist. His breathing was slow and even, regular and calm. James wasn’t sure if Thomas had fallen asleep after their heavy evening meal but he didn’t dare to move and risk waking him up.

James closed his book slowly and placed it on the armrest, turning his attention to the man slumped by his side, a smile lifting at his lips.

Thomas brought him so much happiness in life. James treasured every moment with him, from his bright smiles to his grouchy pouts. From the days Thomas was bursting with overconfidence to the days he needed someone there for him. From his talkative excitement to his thoughtful quietness. James wanted to experience them all.

He loved Thomas.

The weight of these three simple words finally hit James.

_He loved Thomas._

The doorbell shrilled, interrupting James’ thoughts and startling Thomas awake.

Thomas groaned, “Can we remove the doorbell?”

James looked down at him fondly. _We_. Thomas had referred to James’ house as though it belonged to both of them and it made James warm in agreement. This house was Thomas’ as much as it was his. It was evident by how much Thomas had occupied his house, _their_ house, and James’ life.

“It’s cool to have a doorbell, Thomas,” James teased, “everyone has a doorbell now. You wouldn’t want people to knock on our door as if we were behind the trends, do you?”

Thomas grumbled under his breath and pulled the blanket over his head, curling up into a ball beneath. The doorbell rang again and James shoved Thomas with a laugh, watching him roll across the couch.

“I’ll get it,” James chuckled and stood up.

James greeted the mailwoman, received the letter, thanked her and closed the front door.

“Who was it?” Thomas called from the couch.

“Hamilton’s letter arrived,” James told him, heading around the couch to pass Thomas his letter.

Thomas was now sprawled across the couch. By that, James meant that Thomas was lying on his belly, propped up by his elbows, James’ book in his hands. The blanket was gathered around his waist, his long legs crossed and poking out the other end.

James froze with his arm outstretched, his breath catching in his throat like how the light caught Thomas’ defined jawline, illuminating and highlighting perfection. Thomas looked up from the book and smiled at James. James was pretty sure his jaw dropped in response.

Thomas pulled himself into a sitting position, the blanket gathered on his lap. He gestured for James to take a seat and James jumped at the invitation, rushing forward and plopping himself down on the couch as though someone else would steal the seat from him.

Thomas took the envelop and tore it open, scanning the contents of the letter before tossing it aside. He tugged the blanket over both of them and settled back into their previous position with a content sigh.

How lucky was James to have Thomas by his side?

“What… what did Hamilton say?” James asked, his arm instinctively resting around Thomas’ shoulders, holding him close. “It was a long letter; it must have been important.”

“Hamilton just went on a long, useless rant about Washington’s task before mentioning that he’ll be dropping by next week to collect my interview results for his report,” Thomas shrugged.

“Ah, I see,” James nodded.

They fell into a comfortable silence, a common occurrence between them. James reached across the couch and took his book back, balancing it on his lap, using his free hand to flip the pages.

Thomas suddenly tightened his arms around James’ waist and in response, James squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

“You make me happy, James,” Thomas blurted, as though the thought had struck him.

James’ heart picked up speed. This was it. This was the moment they would confess their love for each other and make it official between them.

“You make me happy too,” James glanced at him.

Thomas released James and scrambled into an upright position, staring into James’ eyes with an intensity as though he was discovering something new between them that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Like, really happy,” Thomas breathed.

“You too,” James smiled.

“All through college, you were always so firm and reasonable and supportive. When I left for France, I realised that I missed you so much. You and your careful ways and your no-nonsense approach. When I came back, you were exactly the same person, except that now everytime I look at you, my heart skips in my chest. Everytime we touch, my fingers tingle. You make me so happy, James. Like, ‘I want to lay by your side for the rest of my life’ happy,” Thomas blabbered on. James’ smile widened as Thomas took his hand and grasped tightly. “Do you…” Thomas swallowed, “Do you feel the same way?”

“I do, Thomas,” James said, his voice soft.

“I’m so lucky,” Thomas let out a soft laugh in relief, keeping their gazes locked, their lips practically brushing against each other’s.

This was it. It was going to happen right now. James was hypersensitive to every twitch of his muscles. His heart was beating too loudly. He was breathing too heavily.

The anticipation was killing him.

It had to be perfect.

It was not perfect.

Thomas pulled back and enveloped James in a tight hug instead.

James slumped slightly in Thomas’ arms.

“Never leave me?” Thomas whispered, “For the rest of my life?”

“Of course,” James promised.

At least they had addressed their affections and received confirmation that it was mutual. James supposed that was progress. He shouldn’t push their relationship if Thomas wasn’t ready.

Was it unfair for his heart to ache with disappointment anyway?

\----------

James dragged a chair to Thomas’ desk at the back of the living room and set it opposite Thomas. He placed a cup of water on Thomas’ desk and sat down. Thomas stopped scribbling to glance at him.

“Thanks, Jemmy,” Thomas grinned and turned back to his work.

James leaned over the desk and squinted at the upside-down words. Thomas paused, looking up at him.

“I’m calculating percentages and comparing trends. I have to prove that I put in effort into my part of the job; prove that I’m just as committed and hardworking as he is. This way, he can see for himself that I deserve this job as much as he does,” Thomas explained.

“If Hamilton wants to badmouth you and frame you for being lazy and a slacker, he will do so regardless of what you give him. You have to prove yourself to Washington directly, Thomas, not Hamilton,” James advised.

“Hamilton’s framing me?” Thomas frowned. “How do you know?”

James bit his lip. He had slipped up. It was Lafayette who knew this information, not Thomas.

“I, um, heard some stuff that day when you and Hamilton were in Washington’s office,” James lied.

“So he knows that I do work as hard as him?” Thomas’ frown deepened, “Why is he always telling Washington lies about me, then? I thought he really believed I wasn’t putting in my best effort. Why would he say that I was useless? Or… or worthless?”

James was aware of Thomas’ insecurities. He was overly critical of himself and excessively apologetic. James didn’t know what had caused Thomas to have this mindset but from the shadowy haze that darkened Thomas’ gaze, it was obvious that those words raised unpleasant memories.

“You are neither of those things, Thomas,” James told him, placing a firm hand on his arm. Thomas flinched ever so slightly, startled back from his memories but he didn’t pull away, forcing an uncertain smile. “Repeat after me, Thomas. I am not worthless or useless.”

“I’m not worthless or useless,” Thomas echoed mechanically. He didn’t seem to believe it but being willing to say it was a start.

“When Hamilton comes,” James continued slowly, allowing every word to sink in, “I want you to stay calm and know that I’m right here, and that I have your back and you’re going to breeze through this meeting.”

“You really think so?” Thomas offered James a small genuine smile.

“I know so, Thomas,” James said firmly, just as the doorbell rang. “I’ll answer it. Pull yourself together, Thomas.”

“Thanks, Jemmy,” Thomas scrubbed his face with both hands as though to reset his expression and James headed towards their front door.

“Hamilton,” James greeted as he opened the door.

“Madison,” Hamilton said, wearing signature green, turning up his nose. “Is your terrible boyfriend here?”

“Of course I’m here,” Thomas spoke clearly from behind and James took a step back, making way for Hamilton to enter.

James noticed that Thomas didn’t correct the way Hamilton had addressed him. He was sure his cheeks had turned a shy red but James maintained his poker-faced expression. He turned around to see that Thomas had put on his facade of confidence, the one he had practised and perfected in France.

With a steady gaze, relaxed saunter and firm gestures, Thomas invited Hamilton to the couch and took a seat beside him with his papers of interview data.

“Can I get you guys anything…?” James offered.

“I’ll have some coffee,” Hamilton spoke up.

“I’m fine, Jemmy,” Thomas said, just a tat dismissive, another power move to display control. James was sure Thomas didn’t even notice the twinge in his tone, too focused on keeping the act up. James understood; Thomas wouldn’t want to seem ‘weak’ in front of Hamilton.

Thomas’ fingers tapped the armrest as Hamilton scanned the interview results. One might read it as arrogant impatience but James knew Thomas well enough to recognise it as fidgety anxiousness, eager to quickly get their exchange over and done with.

Thomas glanced over at James and James gave him a reassuring smile before disappearing into the kitchen to make Hamilton’s coffee.

He returned to the living room to hear the beginning of an argument.

“What made you think that trends in colour and types of clothings would make a good article?” Hamilton scoffed, placing Thomas’ papers down on the table before them.

“People want to read something interactive. Something that they can compare themselves to,” Thomas shot back.

“This is just gossipy garbage! No one cares about colours or whatever. How much less effort could you put into your work? Reading this article would be useless, just like you,” Hamilton snapped.

Thomas stiffened. James clattered the cup loudly as he placed it down on the table, coffee sloshing wildly from side to side. He glared at Hamilton. Was it really necessary to have insulted Thomas?

Hamilton merely shrugged, picking up the cup and taking a long sip of his coffee. James came around the couch to stand beside Thomas, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. Thomas took a deep breath, composing himself.

“It’s relatable,” Thomas continued, raising his voice to hide the tremble beneath his words. “It’s something people can observe, speculate, they can write in and voice their opinions. It’s a good discussion topic.”

“You know what else is a good discussion topic? The idea of how fashion is related to class. How expensive textiles are these days. How much one should prioritise personal necessities over social stigma based off the clothes they wear. These are educational discussion topics, but I guess your head is too high in the clouds to recognise such societal problems,” Hamilton mocked. “You think you’re better than everyone, Jefferson. In reality, you’re just blind to the problems in front of you.”

Hamilton paused to smirk and sipped his coffee again. James squeezed Thomas’ shoulder and Thomas cleared his throat, shaky but remaining professional, his facade beginning to crack under the pressure.

Thomas began, “Okay, maybe we should have discussed what we wanted to interview the people about-”

“You’re just stupid, Jefferson,” Hamilton seemed to relish in every opportunity to insult Thomas. James was riled up just listening to Hamilton. Could he not remain professional? It wasn’t as though Thomas wanted to do this anymore than Hamilton did. Both their jobs were on the line. Could Hamilton not put aside his personal grudges for one second and cooperate?

“Listen, Hamilton,” Thomas’ voice wavered slightly, clearly rattled by the way Hamilton kept shutting down his responses, the facade falling apart. “I don’t know what I did to you, but all you have done since you entered our house was to insult me and the work I have done. I’m trying to work with you but you just won’t-”

“You’re incompetent,” Hamilton continued. Thomas inhaled sharply at his interruption. “And this isn’t even your house. This is Madison’s house. You don’t even have your own place to stay. What a loser.”

“Hamilton, that’s enough,” James snapped.

“You can’t even stand up for yourself! You need Madison to do everything for you!” Hamilton barked out a sharp laugh. “You’re weak, Jefferson.”

“Thomas, don’t listen to him,” James said, looking down at Thomas. Thomas was now hunched over, small and invisible. He wrung his hands in his lap and shook his head weakly.

“He’s right, James,” Thomas whispered, more to himself than to James. “I’m a fraud.”

“See!” Hamilton grinned triumphantly, standing up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do-”

James took a step forward.

“Sit the fuck down,” James growled.

Hamilton stopped.

“I would appreciate it if you, firstly, apologised to Thomas,” James said, his low voice a cautionary warning, “and secondly, stopped discrediting Thomas for his effort and the work he has done.”

“What work?” Hamilton snickered, tilting his cup of coffee and emptying the contents over Thomas’ papers. Weeks of hard work was ruined as ink ran with the coffee and soggy papers stuck together, impossible to separate.

Thomas covered his mouth with a hand, but not before a choked sob escaped his lips. James curled his hands into fists.

“Look at him! He’s going to cry,” Hamilton scoffed.

James whirled back to face Thomas, squatting so he was at eye level with him, taking Thomas’ hands in his. Thomas trembled beneath his grip.

“Thomas, listen to me. I need you to stay strong. I need you to stay with me,” James spoke slowly, attempting to catch Thomas’ gaze but Thomas refused to look at him.

Thomas shook his head hard. “He’s right, James,” Thomas whispered, “I’m pathetic.”

“You’re not, Thomas.”

“I’m weak.”

“Thomas, stop,” James pleaded. “You’re not. You’re not all that. You’re strong, Thomas.”

“I’m not good enough,” Thomas said with absolute conviction.

Thomas was giving up. He didn’t want to deal with his problems. He didn’t want to deal with Hamilton. James could see that Thomas was about to hand the baton over to someone else. Thomas was about to give control to Lafayette.

“Thomas, _please_ ,” James begged. “Please, stay with me.”

“Can’t take payback, _Lafayette_?” Hamilton sneered.

Thomas froze.

“Yeah, I know it was you,” Hamilton sounded smug as he continued his rant, “maybe not immediately, but I made the connection when I sobered up again. Did you really think that putting your hair into a ponytail was enough to throw me off, _Lafayette_?”

“Stop saying that name!” James hissed, gripping Thomas tight as Thomas squeezed his eyes shut; giving up, giving in.

“I can’t believe you’re so insecure about yourself that you had to make up some stupid french persona to talk to me instead of confronting me directly,” Hamilton scorned. “Maybe you should just remain as Lafayette. He’s a better version of you.”

“ _Hamilton!_ ” James shouted in horror.

Thomas shuddered once before all the tension left his body and he relaxed, sitting up straight, inhaling deeply, completely calm.

“No, no, no, no, no,” James muttered, even as Lafayette opened his eyes. There was a glint in his gaze, something dangerous, even as his smile curled the wrong side of his lips.

“Oui, it was me,” Lafayette began, accent heavy, firm and calm. He pulled out of James’ grip and stood up, turning to face Hamilton as he tugged the hairband off his wrist and began gathering his hair into a ponytail.

James groaned. He had almost forgotten the hairband existed.

“Aha! I knew it!” Hamilton crowed, “Just because you went to France doesn’t mean you can seduce me, Jefferson.”

“I am not Thomas, _Alexandre_ ,” Lafayette said, smiling. “Je m’appelle Lafayette, and I have already played nice with you. Today, we will play a different game, oui?”

“What kind of game?” Hamilton squinted at him suspiciously.

Lafayette’s grin widened. A cold shiver ran down James’ spine. Hamilton must have felt the same way because he took a step back, away from Lafayette.

“I used to play it all the time in France!” Lafayette declared, “It’s simple. It’s called ‘Run’.”

“Run?” Hamilton broke into a smile. “What kind of dumb-”

It happened so quickly. Lafayette took a step forward and threw an uppercut at Hamilton with so much force that Hamilton’s tiny figure flew off the air momentarily before he slammed- full body- into the ground.

James gasped. Hamilton moaned in pain, curling up on the ground. Lafayette took another step forward, fingers clenched into fists, his jaw set firmly and his eyes glowing with anger.

“That’s what happens when you make Thomas feel like he isn’t good enough,” Lafayette spat, “because he _is_ good enough.”

Lafayette reached down and grabbed Hamilton’s cravat, pulling him up and holding him with his feet off the ground.

“Wh-what the f-” Hamilton tried to say, only to be rewarded by a hard punch to his stomach.

And another.

And another.

“Lafayette, stop,” James begged.

Lafayette slammed Hamilton against the wall, a tight grip around his neck with one hand. Hamilton clawed desperately at Lafayette’s fingers, gasping for air. At the same time, Lafayette’s free fist was plummeting into Hamilton’s stomach repeatedly with the occasional knee to his crotch.

“Lafayette, stop!” James raised his voice, wrapping his arms around Lafayette’s shoulders and attempting to pull him off Hamilton.

Lafayette was amazingly sturdy on his feet and James couldn’t budge him an inch but Lafayette complied with his request, releasing Hamilton with another uppercut and letting him crash to the ground.

Hamilton curled up into a ball and whimpered.

Lafayette stood aside and brushed himself off as James knelt beside Hamilton and tried to help him into a standing position.

James heard Lafayette saunter off to the kitchen as he and Hamilton hobbled to the front door. Lafayette reemerged with a glass of water and stood there sipping as James opened the door and ushered Hamilton out.

“Run, Alexandre,” Lafayette spoke casually, even as Hamilton turned back to him with wide eyes. “Or the next time I see you, I will-”

Lafayette finished the sentence with a string of French that James didn’t understand but Hamilton clearly did, sobbing softly to himself as he hurried away as quickly as his bruised body could handle.

James slammed the door shut and whirled back to face a truimphant Lafayette.

“What the hell was that?” James demanded, walking towards him with his arms crossed over his chest.

Lafayette took his time to finish the glass of water and strolled to the back of the living room, placing his empty glass down on Thomas’ work desk. He then turned towards James with a grin on his face. 

The grin was not sinister, like it was previously. It was a grin of amusement, of mischief.

“That was ‘payback’, as Hamilton called it himself,” Lafayette explained.

“You can’t go around beating people up just because they insulted Thomas!” James hissed.

“I can when they cross a line and Thomas feels he's not good enough to stay,” Lafayette retorted, then pouted, stepping right up to James.

James stiffened in the middle of the living room as Lafayette took his hands in his.

“I sense you are unhappy with me, James,” Lafayette spoke, his voice soft, confused, curious. “Why?”

“You just beat a man up so badly he could barely walk!” James exclaimed, exasperated. “Hamilton didn’t deserve that! Violence is not the way to solve all problems!”

Lafayette didn’t seem to be listening to him, pouting again at James’ anger, attempting to soften him up with puppy eyes. A spark lit in his eyes; a spark that said ‘I think have a good idea but it is actually a terrible idea’.

“I know how to make you happy again,” Lafayette grinned.

“Apologise to Hamilton and pay his medical fees,” James spoke firmly.

“Non,” Lafayette chuckled, releasing James’ hands and cupping James’ face with his hands instead. “Like this.”

Lafayette pressed his lips against James’ and despite his better judgement, James responded by relaxing in Lafayette’s touch.

It was everything James had ever imagined it to be, and more. _God_ , did Lafayette know how to kiss. The kiss was heated, in a way that spoke of their passion for each other. It was soft, tender, loving. It was nothing short of perfection.

James’ heart raced, soared, flew. He tiptoed, pushing into the kiss. He had waited for this for so long.

Lafayette trailed his hands down the sides of James’ body and rested at his waist, his touch electric and gentle.

Yet, despite everything, the kiss was _wrong_.

James’ first kiss was supposed to be with _Thomas_.

James pushed Lafayette away with a gasp, stumbling back. 

“Did I do it wrong?” Lafayette spoke with so much disappointment that James’ heart burned in his chest.

“You’re not Thomas,” James told him, brushing the lingering phantom touches of Lafayette’s hands off himself.

“I did it for Thomas,” Lafayette smiled, “he’s wanted to do it for so long but he’s too afraid to.”

“I-” James began, but Lafayette had him in his arms again.

“Thomas loves you, _mon cher_ ,” Lafayette spoke, his voice low, heated, enticing.

“I love Thomas too,” James responded, his own voice raspy. He was supposed to have confessed to Thomas. He was supposed to hear Thomas confess his love to him, not have _Lafayette_ do it for him.

Everything had gone wrong on so many levels.

“I’m just helping Thomas,” Lafayette explained gently, “if you’d allow me to express Thomas’ affections for him.”

“Can you go away?” James asked, “I want Thomas back.”

“Mon cher, you know that’s not how it works,” Lafayette teased, raising a hand to cup James’ cheek, bringing him in for another kiss.

James pulled himself out of Lafayette’s embrace and held an arm out, preventing him from coming any closer.

He couldn’t deal with Lafayette right now.

“Maybe Core? Can I talk to Core?” James asked.

“Core?” Lafayette laughed, something intelligible in his voice. “Mon cher, when I’m in charge, no one can take control away from me. I was made to be stronger than anyone else.”

“Stop calling me that,” James told him, “that French word. I know it’s a term of endearment. Stop it.”

“Whatever you say, James,” Lafayette smiled, pushing James’ arm aside and bringing him close. Lafayette smiled, “I’ll show you how good I can be,” he promised, pressing another kiss to James’ lips.

James hated that he enjoyed the kiss. He hated that his body relaxed in response to Lafayette’s touches. He hated that when Lafayette pulled away, he was the one who wrapped his arms around Lafayette’s neck and pull him back into the kiss.

He had waited so long to kiss Thomas and here Lafayette was, offering it to him.

Was James cheating on Thomas by embracing what Lafayette had to offer?

When they finally broke apart, Lafayette seemed smug, as though he had _won_.

“Have you eaten today? Non, you have not. I will make tea now,” Lafayette said and whisked away into the kitchen.

James walked with shaky legs over to Thomas’ desk and sat down, resting his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought?

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think of the story? Do leave a comment letting me know! Criticism always welcome.
> 
> [minervajeanlupin wrote a Lams-centred DID story you can read here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12684522)
> 
> [You can talk to me on tumblr here!](https://nackledamia.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What Happens In…](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277084) by [Anonfeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonfeather/pseuds/Anonfeather)




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